Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
It’s been two weeks since our first kiss, and we still haven’t moved on from handjobs. The slow pace is nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s devouring my brain in the best and worst ways. My head space is literally Tom Cobalt and music, and there isn’t enough room for my mom to insert a grenade of worry.
I need her not to pull the pin.
If my red pen didn’t bust on me again, I would’ve silenced the call, but I needed to use the bathroom anyway. So I reluctantly answered it.
“The watch had diamonds,” she adds.
“I doubt Tom’s mom was trying to make you feel poor.” I scrub my hands with fancy sandalwood soap, listening to her on speakerphone.
“It’s not that,” she sighs. “It just made me realize how much more you have to lose than her son.”
My stomach clenches, and I try to fixate on the crimson stains on my hands and not her words. I scan the dimly lit bathroom, the air smelling like cedar and pine from a diffuser on the black marble. Just the soap looks like it costs more than my wardrobe. The black-tiled shower has a humongous rainfall showerhead. The space, so clean.
Every time I come in here, I feel like I’m in a hotel that costs a grand a night.
“Phoenix?”
“I hear you,” I whisper, using my foot to open the cabinet. Tom and his brothers are neat. Towels stacked, skincare products organized, nothing out of place. I grab a navy-blue hand towel, monogrammed with the letter C. I rinse it under the water.
“I…I can’t give you…” Her voice trembles.
“Mom.” I look into the mirror. Red ink bleeds against the sharp lines of my jaw. “It’s okay—”
“It’s not though. Your dad and I…we will never be able to give you what his parents can give him, and I’m sorry—”
“You’ve given me more than enough,” I say strongly. “The orchestra…” Why the fuck am I bringing this up? “It’s a dream for a lot of kids…just that, and I’ve been able to do it.” It’s not my dream. “You and Dad helped me get there, even if it’s not where I am now.”
She sniffs back tears. “You really want to give it up? Phoenix, just please think this over…”
There is no safety net for me. I’m following a dream that most would say will pan out to nothing. To fight against people who love you and want what’s best for you is the hardest thing in the world, and Tom will never know what this feels like.
Birdie, though…Birdie gets it. Thank God I have my brother.
“This is all I want to do, Mom,” I say quietly. “I have to see this through.” She would absolutely freak if I even mentioned kissing Tom. Which I would not and will not bring up.
“Your dad is going to a distillery with Connor Cobalt tomorrow.”
“Tom’s dad?” I wring water out of the towel.
“Mmm-hmm, they’ve hit it off. He heard your dad likes whiskey, so he’s taking him to a private tasting.” There’s a frown in her voice. “I just worry he’s trying to buy his trust.”
“What’s not to trust, Mom?”
“They’re in another income bracket than us, Phoenix. We aren’t exactly people to some of them.” Now she sounds like Birdie, but they’ve had some bad experiences with rich assholes during private events, ones where they were hired to play.
I try to reassure her. “I don’t think the Cobalts are like that.”
“I do appreciate Rose not trying to be fake with me. She is very…”
I frown. “What?”
“Prickly?”
I smile a little. “You mean, bitchy.”
“I didn’t say that.” I hear her smile. “But maybe.” After a short pause, she adds, “Just think about this some more. You can’t feed yourself on a passion.”
“Not playing drums feels like I’m starving anyway,” I mutter. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Phoenix, wait. I’m sorry.” She rambles for a few seconds, trying to remind me she’s just being cautious.
“I know, I know. I love you too.” Once we hang up, I rub hard at the red ink on my tensed jaw with the towel. A fist raps at the door, and I call out, “If it’s Tom, you can come in.”
I don’t turn around. I see the door open through the mirror and Tom slip inside. It’s a soft, quiet entrance where he presses his shoulders to the wood, closing the door behind him. Our eyes meet in the mirror while I fist the damp hand towel. His expression is one of deep concern.
“Lock it,” I whisper.
Tom latches the door. “I might have some face wipes for the pen.” He nears while I grip the edge of the counter. His gaze keeps latching with mine, even as he brings a basket of products to the sink. “You always have this look after you talk to your parents.” He skims my features. “Like you want to scream.”